When You Come Undone
by Griselda Banks
Summary: Oneshot. Post-AoU. She is grieving the loss of her only family. He is struggling with the fear that he will never see his best friend again. In their loneliness, they turn to each other for comfort. After all, they have no other choice. No pairings.


**Author's Note: This is a little scene I've been wanting to write for years, and just haven't taken the time to do so until now. One time while watching AoU, I found myself paying especially close attention to Steve's interactions with Wanda, brief and scattered though they might be. After all, he's the one who first trusts the twins and challenges them to do the right thing. I really wish we could have gotten to see more of Steve and Wanda interacting in the movies, because I think the dynamics of their relationship are really interesting. Alas, we'll never get to see more than what little we've got so far, so all I can do is put a few of my thoughts down on paper.**

* * *

_I can see it in your eyes, you're hurting  
But pain is part of learning who you are  
All these truths can sometimes be deceiving  
When your whole world  
__Comes crashing to the ground_

_..._

_I don't know if I can make it better  
All I know is I will be around_

_\- "Undone" by Lifehouse_

* * *

Steve lay in bed, staring into the darkness. It wasn't that he wasn't tired. He was exhausted after a long week of training. And it wasn't that his bed was uncomfortable, either—Tony had obviously spared no expense when having the Avengers' new living space built. Steve had his own room with a large, comfortable bed and a separate thermostat so he could control the temperature down to a tenth of a degree. He even had his own bathroom, where he'd soaked in the tub earlier to ease his tired muscles.

But even though he'd worn himself out with physical exercise, taken a hot bath, and spent an hour reading a very boring technical manual, Steve still found himself lying wide awake, staring at the ceiling.

One would think that, after everything that had just happened, Steve would be suffering from nightmares about robots taking over the world or an entire city rising into the air. But the one thing haunting Steve's restless mind right now was the one thing that always had: Bucky.

Time was supposed to make this sort of thing easier to bear, wasn't it? And it also shouldn't be so hard, knowing that his friend was at least alive. But no matter how often he told himself these rational things, Steve could only think about how much it still hurt.

A year. It had been a whole _year_ since he'd seen Bucky, since he'd gotten the bombshell that he was still alive, since Bucky had kept him from drowning. But then he'd run away, and no matter how hard Steve looked for him, he never could find him.

Was this what his life would consist of now? Running around on a wild goose chase in between saving the world?

Was Bucky really so afraid of him that he had to work _this_ hard to avoid him? Or was it nothing but a momentary lapse that had prompted him to look at Steve the way he had, to hold back rather than kill him? Was that fleeting glimpse of _Bucky_ gone forever, and now Steve was chasing down nothing but the empty shell that was _the Winter Soldier?_

With a groan, Steve rolled out of bed. Inevitably, his thoughts always returned to the same questions that rolled around in his head. He had no answers, and he never _would_ have answers, unless he actually managed to find Bucky. He just had to hold onto the hope that such a day would come soon.

In the meantime, Steve stepped into the hallway and shuffled towards the kitchen. The clock on his phone said it was 2:43 a.m. Too early for anyone to be up, too late for him to have any hope of getting a decent amount of sleep even if he managed to doze off immediately.

Tomorrow—no, today—would be just _swell._

When he turned the corner at the end of the hall, Steve was surprised to see the glow of light from the kitchen. No one should have been awake at this hour. Even Vision went into a sort of half-conscious stasis at night, usually hovering in an out-of-the-way corner and...recharging his power cells, or however that worked.

But it was Wanda he saw when he stepped into the dimly-lit kitchen. She sat on a bar stool at the island, where they usually sat for breakfast. She was wearing loose, comfortable clothing, her feet were bare, and her hair looked rumpled. Judging from that and the way she sat staring at her hands on the countertop, her night was about as restful as his.

"Trouble sleeping?" Steve asked, sliding into the seat next to hers.

Wanda jumped—a sign of how distracted she must be, since usually she knew you were coming before _you_ did. She whipped her head up, then relaxed when she saw who it was. "I'm sorry," she said hastily. "I didn't mean to wake you. I didn't think anyone could see the light..."

Steve held up a reassuring hand. "No, no, you didn't wake me up. Don't worry about it. I couldn't sleep either."

Wanda gave him a long, inscrutable look—one that almost made him wonder if she were reading his mind—then she nodded and looked back down at her hands. She fiddled with the many rings she wore even in the middle of the night.

They didn't have to ask each other _why_ they were sitting in a dimly-lit kitchen when they ought to be in bed. Wanda had looked deeply, if only briefly, into Steve's mind, seeing the pain he still carried everywhere. And Steve didn't need any special powers to know that Wanda was still tormented with grief over her brother's death almost a month ago.

For a while, they simply sat there in silence. Steve looked at Wanda's bowed head, at her drooping shoulders, at the bags forming under her eyes after far too little sleep. During the day, it was easy to forget just how _young_ Wanda was. She always wore at least a little makeup, and when that combined with her incredible powers and the confident way she carried herself...he usually thought of her as a woman. But now, as she sat hugging herself in a sweatshirt that dwarfed her, he knew she was just a kid. A girl who had suffered far more than anyone should have to.

Suddenly, Wanda spoke in a dull voice. "Do you know what it's like to lose everything?"

Steve met her gaze and thought of Bucky falling from the train. He thought of his mother, the only family he had, dying and leaving him alone. He thought of waking up in S.H.I.E.L.D. custody and learning that everyone and everything he'd ever known was long gone. "Yes."

They looked at each other for another long moment, then Wanda murmured, "How do you do it?"

"Do what?"

Her chin trembled, and she ducked her head so her hair fell in front of her face. "Keep...going..." she said in a voice choked by tears. "I...I keep trying to...to b-be strong. But...how can I...when _he..._was my strength?"

His heart broke for this girl who ought to be laughing with friends and stressing out over homework, not mourning the loss of her one remaining family member in a war she helped start. He wished he could just wave his hand and make all of that pain disappear.

Steve got to his feet and held out his arms. "Come here."

The speed with which Wanda slid off her chair and flew into Steve's arms suggested she'd been hoping for something like this. She clutched at the back of his shirt, pressing her face to his chest.

Steve gently rubbed her back, letting her cry. Thinking back on the time since Ultron had been defeated, he realized he couldn't remember seeing her cry much. Just a little on the day her brother had died, as she held his broken body, and then at his funeral. But even then, she had mostly just sat staring straight ahead, a few silent tears dripping down her cheeks from dazed, staring eyes. Nothing like the broken, shuddering sobs that exploded from her now.

Maybe this was what she'd been needing all this time. Before, when she'd lost her parents, or when she'd suffered and had harsh experiments performed on her that had probably almost killed her...at least she'd been able to turn to Pietro. But who could she turn to when Pietro was the one she'd lost? She was an Avenger, true, but she'd known them for such a short time. How alone she must feel. How tired of maintaining the facade that she was fine. Useful. Strong. But as soon as he'd given her an opportunity to express what she was really feeling, she'd fallen to pieces.

"Wanda," he murmured into her hair, "you _are_ strong."

She mutely shook her head.

"I know that when you lose someone important...it feels like you can never walk again. Never stand again. But, Wanda...every time you've been knocked down, you get back up again and keep trying. That's not weakness."

"But I..." Wanda gasped. "I can hardly _breathe..._and everything...everything _hurts..._"

"Feeling pain doesn't make you weak," Steve whispered. "Being _broken_ doesn't make you weak. It just shows how important he was to you."

Wanda mumbled something incoherent into his chest. Steve held her, saying no more except for an occasional "shhh..." or a murmured "it's okay." He rubbed her back slightly, not sure what to do. The problem was that he remembered being in the same position as Wanda...and _nothing_ had really helped.

But gradually, Wanda's sobs subsided and her fingers on the back of his shirt loosened their desperate grip. She pulled away from him, sniffling miserably and dabbing at her eyes with her sleeve. She mumbled an apology over the wet spot on Steve's shirt, but he waved it aside, watching her in concern.

Wanda turned bloodshot, pleading eyes up to him. "Does it ever get easier?"

Steve looked down at her, sympathy and compassion surging through his heart. "Yes."

Wanda looked at him with a cautious, almost pained expression of hope, as if she hardly dared to believe him.

Steve remembered something Sam had once told him. "The thing about grief...it's like a ball bouncing around in a box. There's a little button in the box, and when the ball hits it, that's when you feel pain. At first, the ball is huge—so it doesn't matter what you do, it's going to keep hitting that button over and over again. But as time passes...the ball gets smaller and smaller, so there's less chance of it hitting that button. When it does, though...it still hurts. Like it just happened."

Wanda's head bowed, looking down at her hands fidgeting with her sleeves. "I know," she whispered. "It was like that with...my parents, too. Except then, I had...someone to hate. Vengeance...gave us a reason to press on. I...don't even have that anymore..."

Maybe that was one reason this was so hard for her. Bad enough that she'd lost her brother. But when she'd turned against Ultron, she'd effectively given up her quest for vengeance, working alongside the man she'd blamed for her parents' deaths. Maybe, even though she knew she'd done the right thing, even though she was healthier for it...she'd also lost something. Maybe it felt like watching her parents die all over again, because now she had to face _that_ grief as well as mourning her brother.

Where did you turn when you'd lost everything? What did you do when even the goal you'd been fighting for turned out to be empty and meaningless? Steve had faced that not too long ago.

"When I crashed into the ice," he said slowly, thoughtfully, "I wasn't planning on getting out alive. I'd just lost my best friend. My brother."

Wanda brushed away another tear that trickled down her cheek, but didn't look away.

"Then I woke up and found out I'd lost everything else," Steve continued, leaning back against the counter as he cast his mind back to that bleak time. "The war was over. Everything I'd known was gone. The only thing that kept me going was working for S.H.I.E.L.D., trying to do some good with my second chance." He let out a mirthless chuckle. "And then I found out S.H.I.E.L.D. was Hydra. And I lost that too."

He remembered the darkness of those days. It had felt like a personal friend had stabbed him in the back. Suddenly, he'd been adrift again, floundering not only for the will to continue, but for the right thing to do. Something to fight _for,_ when it seemed that corruption was everywhere.

"What did you do?" Wanda asked. She'd probably seen some of this when she'd delved into his mind, but it seemed she wanted his interpretation too.

Steve smiled. "I did exactly what you did."

Wanda blinked in surprise.

"I saw that innocent people were being hurt, and I did everything in my power to stop the ones who were hurting them. That's why I picked up the shield in the first place. And that's why you helped us in the end...isn't it?"

Wanda nodded slowly.

"It doesn't take the pain away," Steve said quietly, "but it gives me a reason to move _through_ the pain." He pushed off the counter and laid a hand on her shoulder. "It also helps that I'm not alone."

Her eyes filled with tears again, and she wrapped her arms around him. Sniffling against his chest, Wanda whispered, "Are you...my family now?"

Steve hugged her back. He could never be a replacement for Pietro, but he hoped he could still be a good brother to this girl who needed one so badly. "If you want us."

Wanda nodded. "I don't want to be alone..."

Steve kissed the top of her head. "You never will be...sister."

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